


These Hallowed Halls of Learning

by KalKira



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-03
Updated: 2011-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalKira/pseuds/KalKira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts AU. A collection of lightly interconnected one-shots and snippets. Rarely, if ever, intersects with HP canon, and ignores HP timeline completely.  May contain traces of nuts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Greg Lestrade tries not to fidget as the Hat drops over his eyes, but the stool is very uncomfortable and he's hungry.

 _Let's have a look at you, then_ , a voice whispers in his mind. _Ooh, very nice. Good dose of intelligence, but you aren't a bookworm. Loyal to your friends and family, as it ought to be but that's not what defines you. Yes, there we go, that's the key. You want to protect the whole world, don't you. Never frightened of monsters under the bed, I'll bet._

 _No,_ Greg thinks back. Being scared of monsters under the bed was silly, when most of them could be taken out with well-aimed blow from a Beater's bat.

 _Good lad,_ the voice- the Hat, Greg realizes- says. _Well, go on, off to -_

"GRYFFINDOR!" it shouts, and Greg runs over to greet his new housemates with a wide grin.  
\---

Mycroft spends his first trip on the Hogwarts Express making friends. That's what he writes home in his letters to Mummy that night in his new dormitory, anyway. He really is quite fond of a few of them, though, and one of Dad's insipid books defines as someone who helps you when you're in need, which is certainly what he intends for these people to do. There is no requirement, after all, that they are aware of what they're doing.

He's a bit disappointed in his experience with the sorting, he writes in a separate letter to Sherlock. Some people tell of fantastic long conversations with the Hat, in which it provided them with valuable insights into their character. The Hat didn't say much of anything at all when it was on his head. It just sighed, muttered a few words that he's pretty sure Mummy would disapprove of him knowing (which he includes in a post-script with dictionary and slang definitions, because Sherlock likes new words right now), and sent him off to Slytherin, without even mentioning other options.

Of course, he quickly adds, the Hat probably made the right decision, but it would have been nice if it had pretended the matter required some thought. Or even it's full attention. It's practically an insult to the name of Holmes to be considered easily understood and categorized. He is, he tells Sherlock, already plotting his revenge.

It crosses his mind that thought like that are probably why the Hat didn't need to deliberate much.  
\---

John Watson thinks it's a bit ridiculous that he's arguing with a hat. It's certainly not what he imagined doing on his first night at wizard school. He thought there might be rites of initiation, or dragons to fight or something. He had been rather looking forward to the dragon-fighting, actually, as long as he didn't have to kill the dragon at the end. He hardly swats flies if he can help it. He's not sure he could deal with killing a dragon.

 _Well, if you won't be a Gryffindor,_ the Hat snaps in his mind, _what about Ravenclaw? You're clever, you could do well there._

 _No thank you,_ John thinks back. _I don't think it would suit me to be surrounded by people who do nothing but read. I'd really like to go to Hufflepuff, please._

 _Are you sure?_ the Hat says. _Really sure? You have so many other talents-_

 _I'm sure,_ John interrupts. _It's the best place for me, thank you._

 _Cheeky brat,_ the Hat grumbles. _All right, fine. Shoo, get yourself off to -_

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

John smiles as he sits down at one end of the table, with the other first years. Really, this wizardry stuff might not be too hard after all.  
\---

Sherlock is being glared at. It's not an unusual event, whenever he and Mycroft are in the same room. Really, though, he doesn't deserve it this time. He played nice for the Hat, took down his Occlumency shields and everything, just like Mummy asked. He only called three of the other first years complete imbeciles, and two of them ended up in Gryffindor anyway, so it was totally justified.

The glaring moves closer, until he can feel Mycroft looming behind him. Two older students, probably third years, on the track for prefects, tense as they notice him. "I don't know what you're complaining about," Sherlock says. "You knew this would happen. Ravenclaw was unquestionably the best fit, though I must admit that I have some doubts about the level of accuracy with which an enchanted hat can predict a grown person's personality from a brief glimpse at their preadolescent mind. And you were right, Wilkins is just using you for your homework, and he'll probably end up an alcoholic, you should sever ties with him immediately." The food is good, almost as good as at home, but one of the cooks is new and let the potatoes cook slightly too long, three of the other first years are already homesick, and it looks like the entire seventh year is caught in some kind of romantic complication. Sherlock is bored already, and considering skipping the rest of dinner and the orientation in order to get a look at the library.

"This is why I wanted you where I can keep an eye on you," Mycroft says. "You know how Mummy worries when you get cursed. May I at least lend you some of my notes?" The rest of the table perks up at that offer, obviously looking to get a leg up any way they can. Dull, dull, so very dull. Sherlock can hardly believe this is supposed to be the intelligent house.

"Go away," Sherlock says, "I don't need anything from you. Besides," he says, swinging his legs over the bench, "they're probably all wrong." It's a cheap shot, and also a lie, but it makes Mycroft's horrible awful poker face crumble for just a second, and that means Sherlock wins.


	2. Chapter 2

John is on the way back to Hufflepuff after Arithmancy when he sees a group of older Ravenclaw boys pinning the world's tiniest first-year up against a wall. For a split second he considers ignoring them, because none of the older ones are in his year, which means they're all fourth year or above, but his damned sense of justice won't let him. He's already striding towards them when the first-year gives out a small whimper. John blinks and suddenly he's body-checking the one holding the boy away from his captive. (John isn't much for Quidditch, but on summer holidays he plays rugby with some friends from home, and it's marvelous what sort of tricks you can pick up, if you pay attention.)

"What's going on here, then?" he says, trying to sound just slightly dim. Ravenclaws are less dangerous when they don't think they have to prove how much smarter than you they are. "Four on one's not very sporting, now, is it?"

"Sporting!" the one in front of him snorts. John decides he's probably the leader of this little band. "I'll show you sporting! Little sneak thinks he's so much better than us, spying on us all! He's probably using some kind of dark magic, too, learned from that brother of his in Slytherin! Little freak!" He glares at John. "Out of the way, Puffy, the lads and I need to teach our little genius a lesson."

Oh, hell no, John thinks. "Dark magic? That's pretty serious. Have you told a professor? I'm sure one of them should be informed if a student is doing something so serious." In a corner of his mind, he wants to gag at how gormless he sounds. "I've got a free period just now, I can take him to find one if you need to get to class."

"Who needs a professor?" says one of the minions. "We can certainly spare a few minutes to take care of one of our precious little firsties." He snickers meanly, and the other two join in.

Clearly playing stupid isn't going to work. John prepares himself for a world of pain. "Sorry, but I don't think I can let you do that."

"And how do you plan to stop us, Puffy?" says the leader.

"Like this," says a voice behind him, and John is surprised to see a tiny hand reach around him, waving his wand (yew and dragon heartstring, seven and a half inches). "Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" Four Ravenclaws hit the floor. "It would have been a lot simpler if you had done that in the first place, you know."

"Maybe," John says, and turns around, "but talking them out if had less chance of either of us losing points." He examines the kid he rescued. Dark hair, dark eyes, horribly skinny, and holding John's wand like a lifeline. "For that matter, why didn't you stun them when they first came at you?"

"They unfortunately had taken the precaution of stealing my wand before interrupting my reading with their ridiculous accusations," the kid says. He sniffs. "As if I would bother to spy on them. I'm sure their lives are nothing but tedium and mediocrity." He bends down and rummages through the leader's bookbag for a moment before coming up with two wands. John is pretty sure the long, dark, whippy-looking one belongs to the kid. "Here." The kid hands over John's wand, and tucks the other two up his sleeve. "Come on, I need another pair of hands in the library."

John finds himself falling into step beside the kid before he can think to protest. "What are you up to, then?"

The kid looks at him like he's a drooling moron. "I'm currently working on a way to get around the spells on the Restricted Section. They're completely unreasonable."

"Right," John says. Well, he did always think those rules were a bit restrictive. "What's your name, kid?"

"Sherlock Holmes." He stops with a frown of concentration, like he's reading off a mental script. "Pleased to meet you. Thank you for assisting me. Your aid is appreciated in this matter."

"Right," John says, resisting the urge to ask 'and what planet are you originally from? are you enjoying your stay on earth?' "John Watson. Do you really think you can break into the Restricted Section? People have been trying it for years, you know."

"Yes," Sherlock says. "But none of them were me."


	3. Chapter 3

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?" Sherlock asks in the library, one rainy Saturday afternoon. John sighs internally. After three years of constant exposure, he's nearly used to Sherlock's complete lack of anything resembling social skills, but it can get wearing to deal with. Good thing he's nearly done with the reading for Defense, though, since this is probably going to be one of those discussion that takes a while. "I suppose you could have a girlfriend, but you aren't usually boring," Sherlock continues, evidently taking John's silence as some sort of question. "And you aren't a coward."

John closes his book and looks across the table at Sherlock, who is supposed to be doing Ancient Runes, and has instead constructed what is probably a fully functional trebuchet out of spare quills and string. "Before I answer," he says, keeping his voice even, "can you explain the train of thought that led you to ask?" It will help him figure out what sort of response Sherlock is looking for, and not coincidentally buy John some time to actually come up with one.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, like he always does when John asks him to explain something he thinks is perfectly obvious. "You obviously prefer men to women, and you're fifteen years old, which studies suggest is when the male mind becomes primarily concerned with sexual stimulation. As I have not noticed anything aberrant in your development thus far, I must assume you also desire intimate relations with another person, and because you are not an idiot, you are not refraining from seeking partners based on some ridiculous idea that you are somehow an undesirable partner." The last statement, John thinks, seems more like a command than a deduction, but Sherlock hates it when John points out his emotions. Also, oh god, he's really going to have a _sex talk_ with _Sherlock_. "Thus there must be some other reason why you have not yet chosen a boyfriend, and I am interested in knowing what it is."

John rubs his palm across his face. "First, my sex life is actually none of your business, and I have a right to keep it private if I choose." There isn't much chance of Sherlock actually respecting that statement, but John feels better for having said it. "You can ask your questions, but I have no obligation to answer them. Second, and I cannot believe I am saying this, yes, my development has been normal and I do have sexual urges." This conversation has just taken the record for 'most awkward discussion ever', and given long association with Sherlock, that is difficult rank to achieve. "Third, I currently have no desire to act on those urges, because despite the massive number of people you imply would happily have 'intimate relations'" he can't help it, he has to do the finger quotes, "with me, there is only one person I am interested in, and that person is not interested in me. Don't even ask," he adds, as Sherlock opens his mouth. "I'm not going to tell you. Not even a clue."

Sherlock frowns. "If there's a person at this school who's so abysmally stupid as to not want you, his identity should be obvious. I doubt there can be many males here with severe brain damage."

"Well, the puzzle will give you something to do in class," John says. "Now are you actually going to finish your homework, or shall we go to dinner?"

"Dinner," Sherlock says, not bothering to gather up his books as he stands. No one will touch their things while they're gone, not and risk incurring the Wrath of Mycroft, who may not be on speaking terms with his brother, but is still willing to defend him, his friends, his possessions, and his reputation to the death. "The solutions are painfully obvious to anyone with even a passing familiarity with German. Even you could do it, if you tried." He stalks off, his robes billowing dramatically around him. John would suspect him of using a spell to achieve the effect, but that would require Sherlock to care about how others see him.

"Why am I still friends with him?" John asks of the air, and follows him out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

It's a little disturbing, John realizes, that he has reflexes for uncomfortable discussions with professors. In the case of Professor Flitwick, for example, he maintains a steady gaze at the bookshelf directly over the professor's left shoulder, the one with a copy of _Uncommon Uses for Common Charms_ , volumes 13-23. It's important that he and the professor keep from making eye contact, because the dignity of this interview will not be at all improved by hysterical giggling, and Sherlock will be frustrated that he doesn't get the joke.

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson," Professor Flitwick says, and out of the corner of his eye, John can see him fighting a grin. "Would either of you care to explain exactly why the Giant Squid is now green? Or where Professor Sprout's immature bubotubers are? Or how Sir Cadogan came to be lost in the dungeons ranting about tea cakes?"

"I don't know why the Squid is green, it was supposed to turn mauve," Sherlock replies. "Which is what the bubotubers were for, obviously. I was going to put them back this morning, except the snow was too deep to go out in and John refused."

"I'm not going to be caught with stolen goods just because you couldn't wait long enough to buy your own," John says, still staring fixedly at the bookshelf.

"And Sir Cadogan?" Professor Flitwick asks. He's very good at making sure they get all the formalities out of the way first.

"He was in the way," Sherlock says, and John has been associating with Sherlock long enough to _hear_ him pouting. That had been a tricky few minutes, standing in the hall with the portrait shouting and illicit plants leaving slime on the inside of his robes. "Alfred really was hungry, though." Alfred is a wizard with a cello and a stick up his arse on the fourth floor, and someday John will figure out how Sherlock became one of the few students he tolerates.

Flitwick nods, makes a few notes on a sheet of parchment in front of him, and then puts it aside. "I see. Now, what were you trying to do to the Squid?"

John breathes a sigh of relief. Now comes the part where the professor and Sherlock talk magical theory for a few hours, while John catches up on his homework and occasionally acts as translator. Sherlock is getting much better at humanity, but some of the subtleties still elude him. At the end, they'll be sent on their way with a sufficiently punitive point loss, and the other students will assume they had been chewed out for their actions.

A first, John was confused about why they were getting away with so much with no punishment, since Sherlock cares less about House points than he does about Gryffindors and John cares more about Sherlock than he does about either. Thankfully, Flitwick took him aside one afternoon and explained it. "Ravenclaw gets child prodigies about once a decade," the professor said, "children who are significantly above average. Once every generation or so, there is a true genius. Children like young Mr. Holmes appear once a century at best. With you to assist him and rein in his truly wild ideas, as we have already observed you to do, we may learn much from his experimentation with acceptably low risk to the rest of the student body. That is, as long as they are not encouraged to emulate the pair of you." Then he winked. "And isn't it fun to be pulling one over on the rest of them?"

That was when John decided he liked Professor Flitwick.

Now, as he bends over to get a textbook out of his bag, he notices that Sherlock's pants end a good inch above the tops of his shoes. He sneaks a glance up, and it's a little difficult to tell with the excited waving, but Sherlock's sleeves are definitely shorter than they ought to be. Sherlock will be pleased when he realizes he's finally getting taller, but getting him to acquire clothes that actually fit will be a long battle. John considers cutting short the whole ordeal and going straight to Mycroft, but one, he likely already knows, and two, John's not quite sure he likes what that might imply about the relationship between the three of them. Ganging up on Sherlock may eventually end well, but John would prefer not to go through the ordeal beforehand unless absolutely necessary.

And speculating about his best friend's clothing is not at all getting his Transfiguration reading done. John pushes his speculations to the back of his mind, opens his book, and gets to work.


	5. Chapter 5

Normally, Sherlock skips History of Magic. His time is valuable, and can be put to so many better uses than listening to an old, tiresome ghost be nearly correct about inconsequential parts of history. Some days, however, he needs stillness but not quiet in which to think, and the drone of Binns lecturing is nearly perfect. (It would be completely perfect if Binns' voice were a half-step lower-pitched, but a simple charm around his desk will correct that when it is necessary.)

Today, he has something important to think about, so he slips into the back of the classroom approximately ten minutes after the lecture began, ignoring the few students who turn to stare at him. After setting up the charms to adjust the professor's voice, and to warn him if anyone approaches too close, he settles back in his chair and pulls the problem to the front of his mind. He'll get around to solving it eventually, but he noticed an emotional reaction in himself when it was presented to him, and he wants to analyze that reaction before he goes any further. It was strange and slightly unpleasant, and he would like to discover the reason for it so he can avoid it in the future.

So. First, Sherlock recalls the scene. He and John were in the library, and John had admitted to attraction to some individual, who did not reciprocate, but refused to give any further information, and had gone so far as to change the subject when it was brought up in the days since the incident. He had, after the admission, referred the puzzle to Sherlock as a classroom distraction. Sherlock turns the memories over a few times, carefully recalling intonation and body language. John had been embarrassed about the subject matter, but not ashamed of his attraction to men, and startled that Sherlock had spoken of it. Therefore, as John is almost always completely honest with Sherlock, his discomfort had been most likely about the breach in social mores rather than an attempt to lie.

Satisfied with his analysis of the event, Sherlock moves on to the more distasteful consideration: his reactions to it. First, the disappointment when John confessed to feeling desire for someone. Sherlock knows that John is much more normal than he himself will ever be, and that most normal humans do desire intimate relations with others at some point in their lives, but it seems to messy and complicated and dull to him. Surely it can't be as interesting as the experiments he and John do together. Surely John wouldn't want to give up their time together for a mere endorphin rush. Apparently, however, John does, and only the idiocy of his preferred partner is preventing it.

Sherlock takes a deep breath to recenter himself, and deliberately considers the next emotion arising from that incident. It's one he's familiar with: frustration with the idiocy of most of the thinking races. He cannot understand how anyone, when offered some of John's precious time and attention, would _turn it down_. Perhaps a person who believed himself incapable of sexual attraction to males would reject an offer to become lovers, but to have no interest in him at all seems inconceivable. Really, anyone in the school ought to feel honored that John deigned to notice them.

For five seconds precisely, Sherlock allows himself to truly feel that frustration, then pushes it back behind his Occlumency barriers. It's important to acknowledge, but leaving it lying around serves no purpose whatsoever. Another centering breath lets him feel the final, most puzzling emotion from that event. John had referred the puzzle of discovering his preferred partner to Sherlock's intellect, trusting that even with the barest of information, Sherlock will be able to solve it. The part about it being a distraction in class was clearly a joke, as it would be impossible to properly gather information when most of the subjects are otherwise engaged and, more to the point, closely supervised. But it's a puzzle from John, more complicated than the usual "Where did I leave my socks?" and "When did you last eat?" that he occasionally gives Sherlock, and something about that makes him feel strange. Unusually pleased. One might, if one were being vulgar, go so far as to say thrilled. And Sherlock is not entirely certain why.

For a minute he just sits there, confused and hating it. Then his thoughts coalesce into a single beautiful whole, and he lets out a small shout of joy. _John was asking for his help_. He almost never does, not for important things. John likes to do things for himself as much as possible, which is probably why he asked so obliquely, but now he wants Sherlock to help him. He wants Sherlock to find this mystery boy and convince him to give John a chance.

For half a second, he considers not doing it. Why, after all, should he help anyone steal John away? Then his sense reasserts itself. If not now, if not this boy, then it will be someone, at some time; John can be surprisingly stubborn about getting what he wants, and he obviously wants a lover. Better to have it happen here and now, while Sherlock has some control over the situation, and their work won't be disturbed too much while John gets this out of his system. John will have his sexual gratification and, Sherlock is sure, discover that spending time with him is much more pleasant. It will be unpleasant to have to do without John's assistance in the interim, but it will be worth it to have John happy and less inclined towards future distractions of that nature.

With a plan firmly in mind, Sherlock breaks the spells cast on his desk and slips back out of the room. There are a few tests he wants to run on the Giant Squid Project before lunch.


End file.
